With Friends Like These ...

I'm pissed. This morning I received a flood of messages from One Ring, who had been trying to reach me repeatedly during my morning commute. Unfortunately, I had Metallica's Master of Puppets cranked up, and didn't hear my phone ring. So I only picked up after I pulled into an awesome "I got here on time" parking spot.

She informed me that Drink Man and inevitability had finally collided. Last night he had gone out drinking with some friends, and then attempted to drive home. Apparently he lost control of his car and wrecked, receiving injuries to his ribs, elbow and face. He says he's fine, but he made matters worse by wandering off into the woods and sleeping under a tree while the police came and towed his car to parts unknown (he lives in a rural community not far from the hospital).

So, whom does he call? Me. He calls me and asks me to drive out to his house (he walked home this morning at 4:30), and help him out during my lunch break. Will I? Yes, because I'm a nice guy. Will I tell him, "Everything's all right. We'll fix it and make it all better."? Oh, hells no!

First off, I'm thinking that he's a binge drinker variety of alcoholic. Which makes him damn dangerous on the road and irritating to be around. I pray that this incident will convince him to seek help and you can bet that I'm going to be suggesting it and going all kinds of intervention on his sorry tail.

And you can bet I'm going to make him feel guilty for making me give up that awesome parking space I scored this morning!

More later.